The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(39)

“Houston,” Chuck says, his voice carrying a sense of scolding. Chuck doesn’t like problems. Part of owning a business in a college town is dealing with young tempers. I just became one.

“Sorry, Chuck,” I say, looking down at the dirty rag crumpled on the floor and the wheels of the cart with ten bucks of beer inside. “That guy pushes my buttons, and I sort of let it get to me.” He gets to me, and I’m tired of letting him get to me. I’m tired of not acting like a twenty-one-year-old.

I stare up into Chuck’s eyes, silently apologizing, but showing him how tired I am of everything. He walks over and looks at the rag, bends down, picks it up and drops it in the basket. He leans his head toward the cart. “Go on and put that back, then throw the rag in the washer. Maybe this is a good time for your break, yeah?” he says, patting me twice on the shoulder.

“Yeah…maybe,” I say, pulling my clothing straight, turning my collar and re-tucking my shirt.

I get to the back of the store, my heart still pounding from almost getting punched in the face, when my phone chirps. I pull it from my pocket, my nostrils flaring with my heavy breath as I sit against the stack of cardboard bundled along the wall.

I need your help with something. It’s stupid. But it’s important.



Paige needs my help. I notice those words first, and my heart kicks into action. I’m standing and reading again when I get the rest of the message—what she needs is stupid. She needs me, and I jumped. That’s…that’s probably not good.

I text her back.

Okay, I’m your guy for stupid, important things. Whatcha need?



It takes her a while to write, and eventually I get back to work, now restocking shelves and cleaning the aisles. Seems Chuck thinks I should stay away from people for the rest of the day. I’m just finishing the last aisle when Paige finally messages me.

I need you to meet me at my sister’s dorm. Hayden. And bring help.



I start to write back, but I have too many questions. I give up on the last aisle and pull my apron and badge off, rolling them as I walk into Chuck’s office. I stuff them in my cubby and pull out my keys and hat. As I turn to leave, I catch Chuck’s attention on me, his feet on his desk and the bat still in his hands. He’s trying to be intimidating. He’s in his sixties, but the man has several tattoos from his years in the Navy. I’ve only heard the stories behind a few of them, but the one’s I’ve heard have all ended with a guy with a broken arm, nose, or face at the end.

Deciding it’s better to just own up to my outburst, I wipe my hand dry along my pants and walk over to where he’s sitting and reach out my hand. He pats the bat in his hand a few times before finally resting it on his desk and leaning forward to grab my hand. We shake once.

“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again,” I say, looking down as I slide my hat on. Old man or not, I still don’t want to make eye contact and deal with facing his disappointment. That shit sucks.

“Sounds good,” he says, returning to his resting position, picking the bat up again.

Once I’m in my car, I dial Paige, and she answers quickly.

“You didn’t have to call,” she says. I smile at her greeting, and then I laugh over the fact that this is what I’ve missed for two days.

“And hello to you. Yes, I had a fine day, thank you for asking,” I tease.

“Oh, don’t be an *. I’m at the airport, about to get on a plane. What do you want?” she asks.

“Uh, you need me…remember?” I say. She’s being a little meaner than usual.

“Oh,” she says, and I can tell she also means sorry. “Hang on,” she says. I hear someone speaking over the loudspeaker at the airport, and the voice grows quieter until I can barely hear it. “Okay, I’m in the ladies room.”

“Sexy,” I say, knowing it will piss her off.

“Gross! This is not sexy, Houston. We pee here; that’s all,” she says.

“Well, maybe that’s all you’ve done,” I tease. I should probably get to the point, but I haven’t talked to her for a few days, and the last time she was pissed at me. Joking with her is kind of fun.

“Right, like you’ve had sex in an airport,” she says, her voice so sure. She has that I-know-I’m-right tone. I’m going to shock her.

“I’ve had sex lots of places…Paige,” I say, and there is no mistaking my innuendo. There’s a long quiet between us. That…saying that…to her…it felt strange to do. That was me—completely obliterating the line I thought was so important this morning. Mentally, I draw it right back in place, and check myself to make sure I don’t let that voice slip out again. It also felt kind of good, which is an even bigger reason to draw that line again—this time in permanent marker.

“What do you need, Paige?” I ask, wincing that I’ve set her off, made her uncomfortable, or…I don’t know…that I’m now some creep.

She takes her time answering, and I can tell she’s affected by what I said. “I told you in the text,” she says, clearing her throat, trying to regain her place as the dominant one. It makes me smile.

“You told me to meet you at Hayden Hall. But…when? What am I doing? And you said bring help?” I don’t want to tell her, but I don’t really have help to bring. I’ll call Casey—if I have to—and maybe his roommate can come. But that’s all I’ve got…unless she wants a church secretary and a four-year-old to show up to this thing.